


a thousand roads

by Medie



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Canon Genderbending, Female Character of Color, Gen, POV Female Character, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:59:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mille viae ducunt homines per saecula Romam (A thousand roads lead men forever to Rome) - this is just the latest one by which Watson meets Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a thousand roads

**Author's Note:**

> because gehayi asked for a speculation on what Elementary's Watson might be like.

Her parents decide to leave London when she's six. Joan's too young to understand, just knows that there's a lot of whispering and Mum crying, but she dutifully hugs all her aunties and promises to write (just as soon as she's properly learnt _how_ ) and makes sure to pack her Raggedy Ann.

On the plane, to keep her occupied, her dad gives her a present. A game called operation. By the time they land in New York, Joan's in love, her dad's planning on medical school, and the rest of the passengers are torn between annoyance and chipping in.

She gets a piggy bank when she's eight. Harry breaks it when she's nine. He tries to give her all his money from his paper route to make up for it, but she won't take it. Its the way they'll always be, (Harry breaking and Joan forgiving) but Joan doesn't know that then. She doesn't know either, when she's fifteen and gets a job at the shop downstairs that her meager college savings (all sprung from that ill-fated pig) are about to vanish. 

When she's seventeen, she gets a scholarship, but that's the same year that her father's diagnosed. New York isn't London and fighting cancer is neither easy nor cheap. Joan hands over her savings without complaint, turning instead to her scholarship and the Marines. Her mom has enough to worry about without her tuition too and, besides, it'll only be four years and then she's out. 

Then comes the day in September that changes everything, turning her promised four years into two tours in Kandahar with Iraq on the horizon when an IED and a Taliban bullet put an end to her career as Captain Joan Watson.

She's never done anything by halves. 

Physio is long, painful and frustrating. She gets through it because she has to, because Harry's in trouble again and her Mom needs her. She gets a job at a hospital, volunteering at a clinic (small and underfunded) on the side, but hates it more often than not. HMOs frustrate and stymie her, putting roadblocks in the way of treating patients, and she loses her temper with them more than once. Enough that the hospital decides they should part company and the clinic becomes a full time affair. 

The clinic director scrapes together enough from the budget to pay her, but it's not much and each month Joan's bank account dips lower and lower, her disability and her small salary just not enough to cover it.

She tells herself she's dealing with it. She feels like she's quietly suffocating, but she deals with it. 

And then she finds a lunatic in her clinic, riffling through the drug samples she coaxed out of a pharmaceutical company. He's muttering to himself with a British accent lightly colouring the words and Joan finds herself thinking 'home' even as she pulls the gun she isn't supposed to have.

"Ah, unfortunate," he says, turning to look at her. Blood streaks its way down the side of his face and, really, he's five miles of bad road without even taking in the way he's holding his arm. All that and he still pulls himself up, eyes flicking over her with the kind of intensity that Joan usually reserves for drill instructors and her father's eldest sister. 

"Yes," she says, making a point of taking the safety off. "It is. Let me guess, you were going to pay for everything, right?"

"Of course not," he sniffs. "That's what Mycroft is for. Are you planning on shooting me, Dr. Watson?"

She smiles. "It would be the most expedient way of ridding myself of you." 

"Ah, but then you won't find out who I am or what's led me to bleed all over the floor of your rather uninspiring surgery or how I know you're a British ex-patriot recently invalided home from Afghanistan--really, an IED _and_ a sniper? Quite the tough nut aren't we?--who's surprisingly fierce devotion to her patients and morality has recently led her to part company with the majority of the American medical system even while pushing her to the brink of financial ruin?"

It's likely the worst idea she's ever had, but Joan clicks on the safety and lowers the gun. "Impressive," she says. "Do you do birthday parties too?"

"Sherlock Holmes," he says, grimacing as he attempts a grandiose bow. "And only if there's likely to be a murder or two." 

She laughs. "Okay, Sherlock Holmes, let's see what you've got."


End file.
